Halloween 2017 drabbles
by winds81
Summary: Drabbles for the DEE 2017 Halloween challenges. These are written for fun, mostly edited, but definitely not betaed. Enjoy the silliness!
1. Chapter 1

Little blonde curls practically vibrated as little pudgy legs raced back and forth across the garden. Shrieks of joy, and possibly slightly too indulged upon angst, pierced the air, and Narcissa grabbed a flute of champagne, downing half the glass in one gulp. The evening was still young, sun slowly setting, but she already knew she was going to have to fortify herself to make it through.

Cassiopeia had been a welcome surprise, almost 10 years after Scorpius had made his auspicious entrance into the world as the only son and heir of Draco and Astoria Malfoy. They, clearly, hadn't been expecting anymore which is the only reason why Narcissa could guess that certain precautions weren't taken to prevent exactly this event from occurring. Though, Cassie's welcome into the family had been fierce – the first second born child in three generations and the first female born Malfoy in five generations, she'd been waited on hand and foot since she was born. Which, in retrospect, was perhaps not the best decision any of them had ever made.

She felt her glass plucked from her own fingers, and watched, irritated as her husband finished it off with another gulp, "I needed that"

"Not as badly as I did," he murmured, lifting a slightly singed cuff to his jacket. Narcissa buried her giggle behind an elegant palm. Having received a special night off from school, Scorpius was trying to wow his family members with his magical skills which still required a certain amount of...finesse.

She watched her son across the grounds, close to where the ceremonial bonfire would be lit with a tender amusement. He'd taken to being a father better than she'd expected, with a soft underbelly that his naturally Slytherin children tore into like a present on Christmas. But, he didn't really seem to mind, and his ironclad wife did an excellent job of reining them in as needed. She was often seen with a brittle smile on her face, greeting people politely from one side of her mouth, while threatening horrible death upon her children out of the other side. It was quite an impressive spectacle to behold as both snapped to attention.

"What do you mean the killing curse isn't a trick?" came Scorpius's voice drifting across the lawn, only to fade back out into the background noise of people conversing around them. They had decided to have a Samhain celebration – the first since their oldest grandson had been born – and invited most of Wizarding Britain as a show of good faith.

It had to say something that everyone from red-headed Weasleys – one of whom Scorpius seemed to be following like a lost puppy, though she was doing her utmost to ignore him – to wild headed Potters, to even curly haired Rowles had decided to show up. Narcissa smirked. She never would have placed the Granger girl with the big viking, but seeing them together with their own brood made it clear that they somehow worked. On the periphery, she caught sight of Rodolphus, lingering around the bushes, observing the festivities even if he chose not to participate. While most had made a conscious effort to move on, it was difficult for the oldest Lestrange – bereft of his wife and younger brother – to find his place in this new world.

Lucius grabbed two glasses off the next platter that passed them by, pressing one into her hand even as he surreptitiously pressed a kiss to her temple. She smiled, again, leaning against him. Even her husband had changed, mellowed by age and little blonde curls that had him wrapped around her finger. "Did we make a mistake?" she asked him quietly, testing his mood.

"No," he answered, contentment lingering in his voice, "Though, I might change my mind later"

She snorted at his response, "On a scale of one to Bellatrix, how terrible is it?"

Lucius guffawed as he took another sip of his drink, linking his arm through hers and steering her around the garden. As the sun slipped low in the sky, dipping under the horizon she separated herself from him, pressing a kiss on his cheek before gathering the three other women needed to perform the ritual to light the bonfire.

"Exactly how much is Lucius regretting his decision to host this event?" came the amused voice to her right, on the east of the circle, which she recognized as Mrs. Granger – Rowle.

"A little less with each glass of wine," called back Astoria from the west. A snort of laughter joined in from the North.

"Well, no one has resorted to Avadaing anything yet" chimed in Mrs. Potter.

"Don't worry ladies, the night is still young," Narcissa answered dryly.

"Narcissa, wasn't this ritual originally performed with a goat?" came Granger again. Narcissa winced, leave it to the bookworm to know that.

"We decided that perhaps blood magic and sacrificial rituals was not the image we wanted to project this year," she settled on.

"See? This is why covens disbanded. Everyone grows a conscience in company" came Ginny's dry reply, and even Astoria couldn't hold in her laugh.

"Alright ladies, focus now. Let's set the effigy on fire, and not our guests" Narcissa commanded, heart lightened by the women she'd surrounded herself with.

With a practiced chant, and mostly ceremonial wand waving, the four women thanked the ground for their bounty, praised the Gods for their gifts, and begged protection for the coming colder months. With the final word, they all flicked their wands, the stacks before them lighting ablaze to the sound of polite cheers and clapping.

There was a sudden gasp to Narcissa's left and she swung her head about just in time to see her granddaughter rushing headlong towards to bonfire. Four mothers turned simultaneously, one casting a barrier charm, one a bind, another a tether to yank her back and the fourth an Augamenti to put out the bonfire immediately.

Deep silence was punctuated by a shrill wail, and Astoria gathered her daughter in her hands checking her over for any injuries, murmuring both words of comfort and irritation.

"CASSIE!" came Scorpius's howl from behind her, "YOU'RE RUINING SAMHAIN!"

No, their life may not be what she'd imagined, but Narcissa wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Stolen Pumpkins

Antonin Dolohov 2. Pumpkins 3. Hermione Granger 4. "You can't live off whiskey and candy."

The night was that crisp, burning cold that comes in deep fall and bears promises of what winter might be. It burrowed through the little holes in your clothing, and whispered along skin in a playful manner that caused you to grab the edges and tug a little tighter against your body. The clear, full moon hanging high was ringed in a faint aura of white, hinting at crystalline particles hanging in the air, joining in the assurance that colder days were coming.

It was night like these that Antonin Dolohov was glad he had been born a wizard. Most practically, he was grateful because on nights like this he could cast warming charms over his clothing and ignore the rapidly dropping temperature. On a more self-indulgent note, he loved nights like this because it meant fewer people were out and allowed him the freedom and anonymity that had eluded him since the end of the war. Having managed to avoid capture in the post – combat roundup, he had initially returned to Russia and his meager remaining family to attempt to survive his remaining days in relative peace.

It had lasted less than 6 months, and then he'd found himself back on the shores of the British isles, with a ragged memory of piercing cries and blood smeared across the walls of his ancestral home. He knew what he'd done, but as in the past he managed to compartmentalize it into little pieces so that he could pretend it never happened. That it was just a faded memory of a dream, plaguing him silently.

He curled a leg under himself as he tucked into the plastic pumpkin in front of him. He wasn't so assured of his own morality that he was above knicking a tub full of candy while the child's attention was elsewhere. That he'd also created the distraction probably made him a bit more deplorable, but he rationalized the action with the likelihood that they would continue their quest for candy to placate the snot-nosed bit instead of letting him go without. Hopefully.

Which brought him to his current state of being – half drunk, half buzzed on sugar, arse partly frozen to the bench that he had NOT remembered to warm beneath him, contemplating his meager future while staring at a decimated pumpkin patch on the hills around him. The only gourds remaining were the misshapen, shriveled, or rotted ones. He found the scenery oddly cathartic, a reflection of who he was and always had been. Forgotten, passed by, ignored because of his otherness. Though, he would admit a bit smugly, his flaws were largely psychological, and less physical. Even if that brutal charisma did manifest itself behind his eyes, scaring those away who didn't share his own particular tastes.

There was the crunch of leaves behind him, and he paused a moment in his chewing, waiting to see who was foolish enough to approach him. She slunk in from the edge of his vision, short coat tucked tightly around her torso, hands thrust into her pockets, curly hair barely tamed around her face, and fake ears – she was a cat this year after all – perched precariously on the top of her head. No words were exchanged as she sat on the bench perpendicular to his, eyes trained on him warily. He peered at her cautiously for a moment, before stuffing another chocolate cauldron into his mouth. Her lips turned up at the edges, hinting at the amusement she found in the act.

"Kotenok," he greeted around the confection. She nodded back at him.

"Antonin"

"What brings you out here tonight?"

She pursed her lips, the amusement gone from her face in a moment, "A little bird told me I might find you here"

"Ah," he answered, "Was that little bird about yay tall and with a last name of Carrow?" He lifted his right hand to just above head height.

"No. It was much taller, and it bumped into me while I was trying to have a nice night out with friends," she answered. He grunted and nodded in reply, chewing thoughtfully on his sugary treats. Reaching into his front coat pocket, he pulled out a flask, knocking back a swig of the burning whiskey before extending his arm out to offer her a drink as well. She waved him away and he shrugged, putting it back.

"I should thank this little bird. He seems quite smart, a good friend to send you to me," he replied then, eyes catching hers, small smile landing on his lips as he grabbed another piece of candy.

"You know, you can't live off of whiskey and candy alone" she responded. He shrugged.

"I can certainly TRY"

She laughed then, a short sound that puffed and hung in the air before her, mouth caught in a smile. A smile that was directed at him. That was caused by him. He thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Why do you keep following me?" she asked then, caution and mirth filtering into her voice in equal parts.

"You intrigue me," he responded, a bit too drunk to successfully lie. She furrowed her brow, the smile flickering dimmer but still remaining on her lips.

"Intrigue?" she asked. He nodded affirmatively.

"You are smart, blindingly so, yet you are friends with those who barely appreciate your intellect. You are strong, and yet you hide it from those who need to see it most. You are beautiful," he could see her blush, even in the dim light of the moon, "But you seem ignorant to your effect on others. And you survive, even when you shouldn't be able to. Your blood is impure, yet you are better than most of us"

She eyed him speculatively, mouth still curved in an echo of the smile it had been, humming at him her only response. He fell silent then, watching her warily, sure she would leave at that moment. The truth of his obsession lay between them, uncomfortably filling his awareness that she now held all the power.

But she stayed. A blip in his heart caused it to skitter against his ribs, and he dug into the bucket once more, drawing out a chocolate frog that he reached out towards her. She hesitated, then reached back, grabbing the cardboard box, fingers brushing his as she took it from him. His breath caught, but he released the box, settling back into his own seat. She watched him as she opened the confection, deftly grasping the frog before stuffing it into her own mouth. She took a breath, deep with contentment, finally breaking his gaze to look down at the card. A small laugh slipped past her lips again, and she tugged it out, reaching back towards him.

He took the slip of cardstock, deliberately caressing her fingers with his own this time, and his eyes snapped to hers as he heard the small catch in her breath. His eyes glittered as they took in her face – flushed cheeks, wide eyes, short breaths. The was the scent of sweetness – alcohol and chocolate – between them, and he realized she'd been drinking more than she'd let on.

Tugging the card out of her fingers, he looked down and laughed as he saw the face. Her face. It smiled at him, looking a little off to his left, before shimmering and disappearing. Her statistical information was below it, but he already knew the most important bits about her. He tucked the card into his breast pocket, and looked back up at her.

"Now you can have me wherever you go," she teased him. He nodded.

"Poor substitute for the real thing," he answered lightly, leaning back in his seat again. She shrugged and yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her right hand.

"It will have to do," she responded.

"For now," he answered, and she frowned a little, the smile sliding off her face.

"Forever, Antonin. If I see you again, I will have to turn you in," she replied, tone serious.

"Isn't that what you say every time you see me?" he asked. She shook her head, yawning again, "I know you, Kotenok. You say you have to turn me in, but you like knowing I'm here. Knowing I'm watching. Knowing I'll step in if something goes wrong, even if you don't think you need it"

She shook her head more vehemently then, yawning larger, eyelids fluttering closed against her will. With her last conscious effort she forced her eyes open, glaring at him in accusation, before they closed and she slumped over in her seat. Antonin smiled then, dropping the candy in his hands back into the pumpkin shaped bucket, pushing it off to the side as he stood gracefully. Two steps brought him to her side, and he slipped one hand under her knees and the other below her shoulders before he lifted her, bridal style and walked to the edge of the patch.

He looked down on her fondly, whispering, "Now, I have the real thing", before stepping on his heel and apparating into the night.


	3. Halloween Detention

Severus Snape 2. The Hogs Hea 3. "It's the anniversary, isn't it?" 4. Polyjuice Potion

"Um. I'm not sure. This is a little weird"

Ginny stared at her boyfriend, jaw somewhere near her knees as she heard the voice that had both scintillated and tormented her for years come out of his mouth. His Severus Snape shaped mouth. Complete with greasy hair, hooked nose, and tapered fingers that had played her almost as well as a piano in several of her deepest, most sordid fantasies. Not that she would admit that. Right now. To his face. Before they were both drunk.

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to hold down the blush that was threatening to climb her chest and bloom across her cheeks.

He furrowed his brow, lifting arms that weren't his and shaking them a bit, "It just...it feels...weird"

She cleared her throat, "I mean, you're pretending to be someone else. Polyjuice potion isn't supposed to feel normal"

"Yes, but this is Snape. I feel like I'm...I don't know. Desecrating his grave or something," he responded, nose wrinking a bit.

Ginny shook her head, "No, look. It's just a bit of Halloween fun"

"About that..." he started, dark eyes glittering as he took in her own costume. It had been modeled off of a picture of his mum they'd found from her Hogwarts days. She'd glamoured her eyes to be green, and used some magic to rearrange the freckles on her face to look a bit more like the other woman's, with the effect being a more vivid likeness to the auburn haired witch than she'd like to admit.

"Look, it's just a bit of fun. We can pay homage to the great Severus Snape by honouring his love for Lily," she glibly inserted.

"I'm just not sure..." he started, lips pursing, "I mean, I didn't know her, but still...you look like my mum"

"That's right, you didn't know her," Ginny sidestepped his concerns about incest. She'd make sure she looked like herself before they went beyond kisses and groping tonight. Besides, if she was going to fancast anyone with Snape, it was going to be herself. And she was hoping they'd be back long before his costume wore off tonight.

He waved his arms once more, face pinched in uncertainty, an expression that was distinctly Harry's. It looked odd on Snape's features, and she felt a small pang of...well, not regret perhaps, but sympathy at his uncertainty. She may have, perhaps, pushed this costume a touch too hard. Maybe.

"Where did you even get Snape's hair?" he asked, and this time she had to look away, plucking at a sleeve as if there was some lint on it.

"Oh, I helped Hermione cleaning out Spinner's end a few years ago. She gave me one of his old books, and there happened to be a few hairs in it," she lied. She'd actually snagged a few hairs off his old brush – and yes, she was just as shocked as anyone else that the old bat actually owned a hairbrush – when she'd been helping clean out the old house. She hadn't really had a plan for them at the time, but when this opportunity presented itself she wasn't going to pass it up. She might have a little fantasy problem. Might.

"Hm," was his only response, and she chanced a glance back at him, seeing him stare at himself in the mirror. He touched his face cautiously, exploring the new nooks and crevices, before opening his mouth to stare at crooked teeth. His nose wrinkled endearingly as he ran his tongue over his front teeth, before shutting it succinctly and running a hand down his lean torso. Snape had always looked quite dwarfed by his teacher's robes, but it turned out he was actually rather thin under the excessive layers of cloth which added to the perception. And, she mused, probably added to his ability to billow his robes like a bat at will.

"If you don't want to go...we don't have to," she said, hesitantly, placing a supportive look on her face. She wasn't a completely terrible person. Unexplored crush for the velvet voiced potions professor aside, she did actually love her boyfriend and didn't want to push him into something he didn't want to do. Manipulate him a little, sure. Force? Never.

"I know you want to do this," he answered, looking at her in the mirror. She smiled a bit, stepping up beside him and slipping her arm around his waist. Snape and Lily had made a striking couple. Or would have, if they'd ever had the chance.

"It's alright," she answered, tucking her head under his chin to give him the full effect. Her dress was a snug, short little number that came low on her chest and high on her legs, set off by knee high boots and smokey eyes.

"It's the anniversary, isn't it?" he asked and she blinked at him. She'd thought he'd forgotten. He squeezed an arm around her shoulders, "I know we weren't ready, but... That doesn't mean it didn't hurt"

She cleared her throat again, blinking rapidly at the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Three years ago she'd found out she was pregnant, and while she'd been terrified, THEY'D been terrified, they'd also been so excited to bring a new life into the world. Harry even had names picked out, and had started renovating one of the rooms at Grimmauld in spite of her insistence that she was only 6 weeks along. Unfortunately, at 10 weeks, her fears had come true, and they'd spent Halloween Eve in St. Mungo's, saying goodbye to the precious future they'd just started to imagine for themselves. Since then, Ginny had been even more careful about contraceptive potions than ever, and had thrown herself into Halloween with abandon, trying to not to dwell on what could have been.

"I know," she whispered back, and burrowed under his robes. He locked his arms around her, whispering soft words of comfort into her ear as she cried silently against him. As her shuddering stopped, she lifted her head up, looking into unfamiliar eyes with familiar sentiment and her heart panged. She wished he was Harry right then.

"So, Hog's Head to start and then drink our way through Hogsmeade?" he asked, small smile on his lips. She wiped her eyes, grateful for the impervious magical make up, and nodded at him. He grinned then, wickedly, and tilted his head down to take her lips with his own – a fierce kiss that was as new as it was familiar.

"And then, if you're a very bad girl, maybe later you can make it up to me with detention," he murmured against her ear, and she shivered at the deep, rich tone as it settled into her bones. He laughed, knowingly, and tugged her towards the fireplace, calling out the name of the bar as he pulled her through behind them.

Sometimes she wondered if she could ever hide anything from her boyfriend.


	4. Playing with Wolves

**_Alright, just so you all know this is loosely based on events at my job today. So while it's moderately crazy, and amusing, I swear to god, I barely managed to keep it together. And I still have my job. Which is a win win all around.  
_**

 ** _PROMPTS:  
1\. Fenrir Greyback  
2\. "Are you supposed to be Little Red Riding Hood?"  
3\. Hermione Granger  
4\. "I'm the Big Bad Wolf."_**

* * *

Hermione had her fist firmly crammed against her front teeth as she listened to to the man in her office rambling on about...well, she actually wasn't sure what he was rambling on about anymore. Or, actually, what his point had been in the first place. In fact, if she was in the muggle world and not the wizarding world, she would have thought someone was going to jump out any moment and yell "GOTCHA!"

But she wasn't. She was the head of the Department for Control of Magical Creatures, and she was currently listening to a man, dressed like a unicorn, plead for what she thought was better laws regarding their welfare. Or rights. Or maybe it had nothing to do with either, but it had been a really fucking long week, and the only thing she had enough willpower for was to stare this gentleman in the eyes and pretend to listen to him. If she looked up at his horn, or down at his purple leather outfit she was done for. So her fist remained pressed against her mouth, and her eyes unblinking as they stared into his.

Unfortunately, the fates seemed determined to tempt her self-control. There was a brisk knock accompanied by a brief, "Granger" and the door to her office swung open.

Her eyes widened as she looked at the intruder, inhaling sharply. Filling the door was her personal dirty fantasy – all shaggy long hair, amber eyes, and muscles that made her feel the right kinds of naughty when he looked at her. Fenrir was the hottest wet dream she could imagine, and he was blissfully real, and a regular visitor to her office. Unfortunately, while normally she was ecstatic to have the werewolf in her office, right now she needed discipline, and Fenrir was the furthest thing from it.

She managed to barely control a giggle that burbled on the edge of tongue at his expression. Noticing she wasn't alone, he face morphed from barely apologetic to confused to completely blank. As his eyes swept upwards along the man's horn, she choked out, "Can I help you, Fenrir?"

"I think, perhaps, you need more help than I do," he answered, eyes stuck on the golden horn. She bit her fist for a moment and shook her head firmly.

"Excuse me? And just who do you think you are?" snapped her Man-icorn. Hermione winced, rubbing her now aching hand down the front of her face.

"Me?" asked Fenrir, grinning a smile that was just a little too big and with too many teeth, "I'm the Big Bad Wolf"

The costumed man shrieked in fright then, making little whinnying noises that stripped Hermione of the last of her restraint and she let out a barking laugh, which she immediately attempted to cover up with a cough. Her visitor looked at her with a hurt expression and she shook her head, "Thank you for stopping by today, Mr. Prism. Perhaps we can meet again sometime next week to discuss the rest of the ideas you have? I'm afraid I have a pressing meeting with Mr. Greyback here"

The purple clad wannabe-ungulate stood abruptly, huffing at her as he turned and stomped out of the room. As he left her eyes were drawn to the back of his costume – two white buttcheeks sticking out of purple chaps adorned with a rainbow tail. Hermione thought Fenrir's eyes were going to pop out of his head, and she gestured him to close the door. Pulling out her wand she cast a silencing spell before dissolving completely into laughter, head pressed against her desk.

"Pressing meeting, hm?" came the graveled voice from directly over her head, and she leaned back, looking up at the werewolf above her.

"It was the best I could come up with, circumstances as they were" she replied with a grin, leaning back in her chair. He rumbled a reply somewhere deep in his chest, crossing his arms in front of himself.

"Perhaps I should tie you up for the afternoon," he responded, and her heart skipped a beat at the double meaning.

"We should probably start with lunch, and some drinks," she answered, reaching behind her to grab her cloak. His eyes widened and flashed as he took in the crimson color, grinning hungrily at her. He reached forward to tie it at the base of her neck, finger brushing her pulse point carelessly. Her breath hitched a moment, and he stepped into her personal space at the sound.

"So tell me. are you supposed to be Little Red Riding Hood?" he asked, voice deep and low in his throat. She swallowed hard and his nostrils flared – she knew he could smell her rapidly spiking arousal.

Clearing her throat she leaned towards him, "Yes. And if you're very, very good I might even just let you eat me"


	5. Edge of Sanity

Day 14

Bellatrix Lestrange 2. Divination cards 3. A cursed dagger 4. "All I've got to do is a kill a man pure of blood and wicked of mind."

Fine particles of silt hung hung in the air, illuminated by cracks of sunlight that strained through the fissures between poorly laid shingles. As wind gusted around the old house, the little fragments swirled and twisted, bathing the room in a milky glow that settled with Bellatrix's mood. Her younger sister squeaked in her spot on the hewn wood floor next to her on the floor, muting only when favored with an acidic glare.

This was what she had wanted for her birthday. She'd begged Evelyn Rosier to come and read her cards, determined to discover what fate had in store for her. And while she often believed that Divination was a foolish pursuit, it was well known that the women born to the Rosier line had the gift of Sight. It was no accident that Evelyn was one of her closest friends, and she was using that to her advantage today. Today she was going discern the secrets of what lay in her future.

She'd chosen the attic for it's macabre and enigmatic atmosphere, with it's drafty roofing and covered artifacts, lending support to the decidedly creepy deck that Evelyn had chosen to use for her predictions. Bellatrix had dragged her two sisters up for moral support – or, perhaps in the case of Narcissa, her further indoctrination into the sinister underbelly of Black family heritage. Every female Black, on her 16th birthday, completed a ritual to give her insight into her future standing as a progenitor for the sacred 28. Every female Black designed a strategy for their future based on the results of those rituals. And today, it was Bellatrix's turn.

As Evelyn laid out her cards before her, she regarded Bellatrix with an inscrutable expression for a moment, eyes glittering in the dim light. She rubbed her fingers together on both hands, before reaching out to take Bellatrix's in her own, "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course," came the immediate response, and Bella strained forward, leaning onto her knees over the wooden plackards on the floor. Evelyn rubbed her thumbs over Bellatrix's knuckles, staring at her quietly, before nodding and placing her hands onto the deck. Bellatrix hummed with anticipation, even as her younger sister shifted uncomfortably next to her.

"Trixie, I don't like it up here," came the beseeching whine. Pinning a hard glare on Narcissa, Bellatrix opened her mouth to snap back, but it was Andromeda who spoke up.

"It'll be alright, Cissa. Bellatrix just likes the theatrics," she soothed, words punctuated by a wail of wind that shuttered through the attic. Turning the same brown, drooping eyes they shared on her sister, Andromeda leveled a glare at her, "Get on with it Trix. It's cold up here, and I was going to meet with Roddy and Bast this afternoon"

Bellatrix sneered at her sister, acknowledging the spiral of jealousy that tugged at her over the older Lestrange brother. She knew he was promised to her older sister, but she wanted him for herself. His kind eyes, his handsome face and his graceful presence. She wanted take him, and twist him, and make him her own. Evelyn cleared her throat, breaking her free of her thoughts, and she turned back to the deck. Hesitantly, she let her hands hover over the cards, before dropping them and picking her first.

A beautiful woman with elegant wings swept across the cover. Temperance.

She ran her fingers over the top of the deck, pausing over one that thrummed under her fingers. A man, standing in a field, surrounded by seven towering staves. Seven of wands.

The last card glowed in her vision and she snatched it from the end of the pack, flipping it over. A grim face – head of a goat, with horns that twisted backwards, and sharp pointed teeth howled mutely from the cover. The Devil.

Bellatrix felt a laugh burble up from the back of her throat as she looked at the cards before her. Evelyn, however frowned, fingers tapping at them in a broken rhythm. Her eyes appeared clouded as she caught Bella's gaze with her own.

"You will live a life of strong conviction, and stronger action. But, you will have to temper that conviction Bellatrix. If you give in to all of your ambition, it will drive you beyond reason," she said softly, voice fragile in the room, "You know what the cards mean. You have the tools you need to seek out your desires, and nothing will stand in your way. But, this Devil. It's not what you think. It's..."

She was interrupted by a soft thump at the far end of the room. A box tumbled from the top of an old armoire, hitting the ground with a small puff of dust. Narcissa shrieked next to her, and Andromeda placed a consoling arm around her. Bellatrix blinked, looking at the box and then back at Evelyn. Her friend's face had taken on a pale sheen, and she stood up from her spot on the floor, knees trembling as she approached it.

A black shadow darted from left to right on the wall behind Evelyn, and this time it was Andromeda who gasped, pulling Cissa tight against her side. Evelyn stood up tall, shaking her head left to right, muttering too quietly for them to hear before turning back to the other girls. She stared only at Bellatrix as she returned, back straight, but hand shaking as she extended the mahogany crate to her. Bellatrix grasped the worn wood in her fingers, tugging it breathlessly towards herself as Evelyn settled back down. Fingers fumbling with the latch, she carefully opened it, peering down inside.

It was a small, simple dagger with a curved blade. The handle was made of bone, human bone she surmised, and the little knife sang to her, whispering ugly little words as she caressed it with her finger. She traced the edges of it lovingly, as if reunited with an old friend. _Mudblood_ it sighed, and she hissed as she knicked her finger on the sharp edge. She watched as the sanguine drop welled out of her thumb, and landed onto the silver blade, disappearing into it's tempered edge. It hummed then, and she lifted the dagger from it's casket, holding it up in the faint light. _Hers_ , it breathed. _Hers_. She tucked it into the band of her skirt, turning back to her sisters and friend.

"So what of this Devil then?" she asked, voice strong

"It's not just you releasing your inhibitions. It's a person. It's a place. It's your future, if you don't control it," was Evelyn's evasive answer. Bellatrix adopted a bored expression.

Next you're going to tell me all I've got to do is a kill a man pure of blood and wicked of mind," she taunted the younger girl. Evelyn shook her head, staring at Bellatrix.

"The Sight isn't perfect. I can't tell you exacts, or whens. I can only tell you the slips of what I see. And you, Bellatrix, teeter on the edge of a path of great darkness," she replied.

Bellatrix shrugged, eyes draw down to her new toy, and allowed her lips to be teased into a smile, "Let the darkness come. I'll be here waiting for it"


	6. Werewolf interludes

Fenrir Greyback 2. A blood moon 3. "Some things are beyond control or reason." 4. "All I wanted was a little pumpkin spice."

The full moon hugged the horizon line, barely lifted from it's grave, languishing in a peculiar coral color that set nerves on edge below. Though it was late October, the month had been unseasonably warm, allowing for later forays into the town of Hogsmeade than usually would be desired at this time of year. While most had been clever enough to end their stay in a timely fashion, two stragglers scurried up the hill towards Hogwarts as night began to embrace the highlands.

"C'mon Hermione. It's getting late, and there's a blood moon. We don't want to be out here after dark"

"Actually, Neville, it's a harvest moon. A blood moon is when there are four successive total lunar eclipses six months apart," came the pert reply, the smaller figure struggling slightly behind the larger.

"Yes, well, I'm fairly certain werewolves can eat us just as successfully under a harvest moon as they can under a blood moon"

"Oh, there haven't been any werewolves around here in years," she replied, and her companion huffed in irritation.

"If you don't shut it, and move faster, I'm going to use the S word," he threatened.

"You wouldn't!" Hermione gasped. Neville snorted, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

"Just watch me. You, Hermione Granger, are being a Grade A Sw-"

Hermione stopped short as her companion, and coworker dropped over at her feet. Hissing, her wand was in her hand in an instant, and she spun around to see whom had attacked them.

He stood 10 feet away along the treeline, tall, broad, imposing as ever. She paused as she took him in, noticing his wand twirling between his fingers. As he stepped out into the dwindling daylight she sucked in a breath. Shaggy hair over bare, muscular shoulders, chiseled cheekbones, bright amber eyes. She would know the werewolf anywhere.

"Fenrir," she greeted coolly, attempting to control her warring fear and arousal. His toothy grin showed just a peak of fangs, and she knew he could discern her dilemma immediately. He strolled closer, bare feet silent on the fallen leaves beneath him.

"Granger," he graveled as he drew up next to her, forcing her to tip her head up to watch him. She'd long since given up attempting to run away from him. He'd shown her, repeatedly, how foolish it was to attempt to escape. Her shoulders dropped and she lowered her wand, but kept it in her hand.

"You didn't have to stupefy him," she accused, and he grinned more fully, crowding into her personal space. He did it whenever they were together, and she was never sure if it was meant to be an intimidation tactic or if he simply had no concept of personal space. In the past when she'd attempted to move away, he'd simply followed her – step for step. Eventually she'd come to the conclusion that it was easier simply to allow him to invade than fight it.

He reached out and tugged one of her curls, letting it bounce back next to her neck, "He was insulting you"

She let out an amused huff, "He was teasing me. And he wasn't wrong. I was being a swot"

Fenrir frowned at her, fingers sweeping across her shoulder and down the edge of her cloak, playing with the soft hem. Coupled along with his personal space issues, it turned out the werewolf was a quite tactile creature, reaching out to touch, stroke and caress in maddening continuity during any encounter. He seemed incapable of speaking without one hand actively exploring her person. And while their rendezvous often left her breathless and damp around the nickers, he'd never touched her inappropriately either. Hair, shoulders, elbows, sometimes her waist or hip, but everything remained outside of her clothing and nothing more than a brief touch or brush. It was enough to drive a woman around the bend.

"You were telling him the facts. That's not being a swot," he replied, his other hand reaching down absently to grasp her left wrist with his right hand. She swallowed harshly as he pulled it up, flipping her hand over and sniffing at her pulse there.

"It was more the manner in which I – Oh!" she gasped as he licked the spot he'd just had his nose pressed against. He growled at her reply, and tugged her closer, putting her arm up and around his neck. She whimpered as he leaned down, inhaling deeply against her neck.

"Fuck," came his whimper, and she shivered at the brush of his lips against her skin.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, other arm reaching up and threading into the hair at the base of his neck. He rumbled against her skin, tongue reaching out to lick the junction between the column of her neck and shoulder.

"You smell delicious," he responded, one hand splaying across her back and pressing her against his bare chest. She whimpered then, fingers flexing against his skull, scratching at his scalp. He hissed and she could feel him slot his teeth on her skin, scraping gently with his fangs.

"Fenrir" she sighed, and he groaned, other hand sweeping under her thighs and lifting her up against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist compulsorily, and he made a snarling noise as he pulled his head back, looking her in the eyes.

"Little one, you shouldn't be out here" he rasped, and she shook her head.

"I know. We went to Hogsmeade, and lost track of time. All I wanted was some pumpkin spice," she breathed, rambling as she watched his eyes stare at her lips. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she tightened her legs around his waist and his pupils widened at the gesture. With a feral sound, he leaned down, catching her lips with his own.

Hermione wasn't sure what she though kissing a werewolf would be like, but she certainly didn't expect his lips to be quite so soft, or quite so warm, or for him to be quite so good at it. His lips brushed confidently against hers, before pressing and sweeping his tongue against the seam of her mouth , requesting entrance. A moan worked out of her throat as she let him in, and she fisted his hair in her hand even as she pressed him closer to her.

Her back hit something solid, and she distantly realized he'd maneuvered them so she was pressed against a tree. Wedging a knee between her legs, he freed his hands to roam her sides, sweeping from hip to her breasts where they brushed on the underside of her generous globes. Groaning, she rocked her hips forward against the bulge in his pants, and he growled into her mouth as he ground back.

Pulling back, he panted, his face contorted in a snarl, "You get one chance to go, Granger"

She blinked, her head foggy from arousal, "What?"

"If we do this, you're mine. Mine. My mate," his scant control drove his voice to barely be human, and she shivered at the sound of it. He ground against her again, hands grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head as he leaned down to nuzzle her breasts.

"What do you mean, mate?" she managed to ask and he chuckled as he gently closed his teeth around her left nipple through her shirt.

"You would belong to me, and me alone. You would bear my mark, and I would be the only one who would ever fuck you again," he replied around her flesh, "But you would crave me like I crave you"

"So we would be...?" she gasped as he released her wrists, impatiently shoving her shirt up to give him better access to her skin. Leaning forward again he inhaled, and groaned against her, placing a small nip on her skin.

"Bound. For lack of a better explanation," he answered. She writhed against him as he pushed her bra down, releasing her breasts into the night air and his mouth.

"Why me?" she panted. He hummed around her breast.

"Some things are beyond control or reason. I just know you should be mine," he replied.

"Fuck, Fenrir" she cursed as he laved her left nipple with his tongue.

"That's not an answer, little one," he replied, hands sliding down to her thighs, slowly pushing up her skirt. She whimpered, rubbing against him again.

"Will I be turned?" she asked. He shook his head, shaggy hair brushing against her skin softly.

"No. You'll be," he paused, pulling back to look at her, "Like the redhead. A little feral," he grinned at her in the moonlight, "Like your meat a little less well done. Safe around me when I change. But you'll be human"

As he finished talking, his fingers reached the edges of her nickers, rubbing against the soft flesh there. She whined at him, and then nodded, "Ok"

He blinked, cocking his head to the side in a very canine expression, "Ok?"

She nodded, licking her lips, "Do it"

He grinned, teeth glinting sharply, and he darted forward to kiss her savagely before he tore off her nickers. His tongue plundered her mouth even as his fingers found her slit, sliding along them before circling the little nub at the tip. She moaned into his mouth, even as he groaned at the slickness he found.

"So wet, little one. Is this for me?" he asked, leaning down to nip along her jawline. She whimpered and nodded, unable to form coherent sentences. He chuckled knowingly, and she reached down between them to grab his pants, unfastening them quickly before sinking her hands inside. He hissed as her palm slide down his length, fingers encircling his girth. Her eyes widened as she realized they couldn't touch, but the concern was put out of her mind by him pressing two of his own digits into her slick heat. They both hissed at the intrusion, and Hermione pressed desperately against him, trying to get more friction.

With a growl, he withdrew his fingers, replacing it with the blunt head of his cock and drove home. She cried out in pleasured pain, and he replied with a strained moan, dropping his head onto her shoulder. He stilled for a moment, and she panted, adjusting to his presence. Slowly, he withdrew, and then pressed back in. As he regained control, and she adapted to him, he began to speed up. Her needy cries filled the air, punctuated by his animalistic grunts, and she tilted her hips so that each thrust ground against her clit. In moments she found herself pushed higher, spiraling upwards on towards her peak. With a final plunge, he propelled her over the edge, and her walls fluttered and clamped down around him. He howled as he held her down against him, emptying himself deep inside her.

The only sounds for a few moments were their panting, and he pressed his forehead against hers. Finally, he slipped out of her, gently placing her feet back on the ground, before helping to reright her clothing. She frowned, looking up at him.

"I thought you were going to...?" she started, tucking her shirt back into her skirt. He smirked at her as he tucked himself away into his pants, redoing the fastening before pointing up.

"Full moon. If I marked you tonight, you would turn," he answered. She blinked owlishly at the moon, no longer orange and frowned.

"Oh"

He stepped into her space again, pressing her back against the tree, leaning down to capture her lips in another hungry kiss. As he released her, he caught her eyes with his again, "Don't you worry, little one. As soon as the moon is over, you're mine"

Hermione shivered as he pushed away from her, darting off into the night. Running a hand through her thoroughly mussed hair, she pulled out her wand and rennervated Neville.

"What the...?" he asked, confused from his spot on the ground. She reached out a hand and helped him up.

"You tripped on a rock, and knocked yourself out. We should probably get you to Madame Pomfrey," she replied, placing an earnest and concerned look on her face. Neville rubbed the back of his head, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment but nodding before leading the way up the hill once more. Hermione rubbed her thighs together for a moment, glancing around surreptitiously as she felt the combined fluids leaking out of her, before following after her friend. In the distance, a wolf howled.


	7. On Lestranger Tides

Rabastan Lestrange  
2\. "What the fuck am I doing naked in the woods?"  
3\. A wedding ring  
4\. "Fermented pumpkin juice can suck my great big..."

Death Eater Express Halloween prompt #21 (This is a side story that could take place in the AU I've created for Levitate. It doesn't, but it could ;) )

It wasn't so much the birds, or the wind blowing through the trees, or the dappled light that was flickering over her. It wasn't really the warm smell of a fireplace, or the damp leaves under her back, or even the intense pounding in her head that concerned Hermione. It was, in fact, the combination of all the above that tipped her internal alarms from "hm, that's strange" straight into "what the fuck did I do?".

She blinked her eyes several times, trying to clear the sleep out of them as she stared at the gold and red hued foliage overhead. She was chilled, but not freezing, which was odd given how cold it had been getting at night lately. It gave her some hope that she either hadn't been passed out very long, or that someone had performed a warming charm over her body. And given that the vast majority of her was au naturel, she very much hoped that it was the former and not the latter.

There was the crunching of leaves under boots, and Hermione closed her eyes again, not bothering to look at the interloper. Her humiliation was coming close to being complete. Fermented pumpkin juice could suck her great big toe. She was pretty sure the last time she got black out drunk was during those weird few days that Rodolphus had decided he was in love with her, and she just needed to escape that mess. Of course, that time she'd woken up with a very satisfied looking Theo Nott in her bed, which she kind of wish she did remember.

There was a familiar throat clearing overhead, and she winced and grinned simultaneously. Opening her eyes she gazed up into the familiar blues of Rabastan, who had a faintly amused smirk on his lips. He was, of course, fully dressed, and fully pulled together, and looking like every sinful fantasy she'd had over the past 6 months since his arrival into the manor. She didn't even want to hazard a guess at what her hair looked like. Or her face. Or her boobs. And for that matter...was she wearing sexy underwear? She shifted her eyes down to look at her bottom half – nope. Pink polka dots. Definitely not sexy.

"So..." she croaked, "Any idea what the fuck I'm doing naked in the woods?"

Rabastan grinned before sitting down next to her, eyes crinkling around the corners, dimple on his left cheek – and only the left cheek- deepening. He reached a hand out and she grasped it into her own, allowing him to pull her up to a sitting position. She groaned at the intensified throbbing in her brain, pressing her left hand against her forehead. Light glinted off a silver band on her left ring finger and she balked, lowering it into view. The band was simple, with no design, gems, or other color, but it was clearly a wedding band.

"I have some ideas," replied Rabastan, lifting his own left hand. A matching silver band hugged his own ring finger and she favored him with a horrified look.

"What did we do?" she whimpered. Rabastan raised an eyebrow at her.

"I think I'm a little insulted," he replied, though there was a vulnerable edge to his voice she had only heard a few times in the past. It touched on the edge of truth, and a bit of exposure that he rarely showed anyone.

"I didn't mean...I mean...I'm not upset it was YOU," she fumbled, "I would be just as upset with anyone else" Ah, excellent use of words Granger. That completely cleared it up, she chastised herself.

Fortunately, she had spent enough time around Rabastan for him to understand what she meant and he shook his head at her fumbling, "Oh good. I thought maybe you didn't like me"

She blushed abruptly at his words, suddenly crossing an arm over her exposed breasts. She had been physically attracted to the younger Lestrange brother since he'd first been released from Azkaban, though it had taken several months for them to get along mentally as well. But his sharp wit, and intelligence coupled with his exquisitely attractive good looks had played a role in more than one of her personal fantasies over time. She just didn't know if the feeling was mutual, or why it might be.

It interested her now, then, to see his own expression to reflect surprise and look a little pleased before he schooled it closed again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out small piece of fabric that he enlarged into a cloak before handing it to her. She shivered, finally feeling the cold air against her bare skin, wrapping it around her shoulders, "Thanks"

He nodded quietly, thoughtfully, before standing again and extending his hand towards her. She grasped it, and he pulled her up, more forcefully than specifically needed, propelling her hard enough that she stumbled into his tall frame. He was warm against her, and he grasped her shoulders with his hands, rubbing them with his thumbs as he stared into her eyes, inscrutable emotion on his face.

She braced herself against his waist with her own hands, tilting back to meet his look, not moving away from him immediately. As he leaned down towards her she parted her lips, stretching up to meet him. Her heart fluttered with excitement, and she pressed closer, fingers closing around the starched fabric of his shirt. She could feel his own heart pounding under the cage of his chest, and his muscles tensed beneath her.

About half way to her, she watched him lose his courage, and he cleared his throat again, straightening up abruptly. She sighed and tilted her head, inviting her own fearlessness out, "You know, if we're married, there's a good chance we've already done a great deal more than kiss"

He had the good graces to look a little embarrassed, small grin peaking around the edges of his lips. A small chuckle slipped out and he released one shoulder, rubbing the back of his head, "We're, a...We're not married. These were party favors from last night"

As the words sunk in she gaped at him, before reaching up to slap his arm, "You jerk!"

He flinched, laughing a full, rich sound as he pulled back and danced away and she huffed, turning to stalk back towards the manor. She heard him jog to catch up with her, felt his arm as he settled it across her shoulders, pulling her towards him, "So. You want to kiss me, Granger?"

The tone was teasing, but Rabastan never asked questions he didn't want to know the answer to. He might cage them as a joke, or might bury them in the middle of other concerns, but he would ask until he got a reply. She knew the answer she wanted to give him, but she wasn't sure if he was ready to hear it.

"That depends," she replied, "How much Gryffindor do you think you can really handle?"

She felt his arm tighten around her, and heard the smile in his voice as he answered, "As much as you're willing to let me have"

She really wished she was wearing sexy underwear today.


End file.
